


Wüstenherz

by boxofwonder



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7549030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxofwonder/pseuds/boxofwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will only meant to save a stranger from bandits. He certainly didn't bargain for said stranger to have pretty eyes, need his help to get back home, and turn out to be the prince of his country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /busts out the german for my first original drabble  
> Hi my name is Nico, I'm super nervous but excited to share this, and I like to give my fics tacky titles like Wüstenherz (Desert Heart).

Eyes the colour of honey. Will had thought it impossible exaggeration, as stories travelling from mouth to mouth would always sing of more than what reality had to offer - until they peeked at him, timid and swimming with fear.

Even before his mind had made the connection, Will's body had snapped into action, fists flying. Three men, two women. Will had seen easier fights, but he'd also soared through worse and came out breathing.

Besides, he was faster and more accustomed to the environment – the desert was his home, the sand a weapon often times underestimated. Obviously he couldn't knock out everyone, but the important thing was to get their captive away from them.

And once Will had cut his ropes and roughly dragged the terrified boy to his feet, they'd ran like hell.

Which had gotten them here, lungs burning but remotely safe. Just in case, Will had led the wheezing boy to a little well further away from his actual home. If anyone would find them, they sure as hell wouldn't get to raid what little Will had carved out for himself out here.

The boy with the honey-coloured eyes leant his head against the rough stone of the well like it was a mother's embrace, eyes fluttering shut and then back open. Zeroing in on where Will sat a little away, not so desperate for shadow as dawn was approaching.

“It's an honour, you know,” he muttered carefully, watching Will from beneath his lashes, wrist cradled against his chest where Will had roughly yanked him along whenever his steps had faltered during their flight. “To fend for me.”

Will spat into the sand, saliva and blood. The frustration of returning home without prey to show for his struggles and the pain of all the bruises Will had carried away from the fight were like dry firewood for his rage, kindled by those arrogant words. “Excuse me?” He wiped at his mouth, more habit than help. No doubt only smearing more blood and dust across his cheek.

The boy gave him a trembling little smile. “I am your prince. Your sacrifice is a great service to this country. No doubt you will be rewarded greatly if you -”

So it was true. Will barked a laugh with so much force he fell back on his ass into the sand, shaking his head as he continued to wrap the cleanest cloth he'd carried with him around the nastiest cut across his arm. “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he mumbled under his breath, but when he looked back up, the prince still looked as sincere and belittling as a person _possibly_ could.

“I helped you 'cause I'm a fucking fool, _Your Majesty._ ” He spat those words like an insult, blood boiling. Of course it would be Will's luck to risk his skin for a pampered little royal blathering on about honour and rewards. “I can't watch anyone helpless be trampled on, that's it.”

The two of them couldn't have been too far apart by age, if Will considered it. Both grown out of the round faces of boys, and not men quite yet. But Will was closer to being a man than this kid would be in a century – the prince looked nothing but pitiful and small where he sat, one slipper on his foot, fine silk of his robe tattered and dirty.

Cloth more fine than anything Will would ever touch with his own hands.

“B-but certainly you serve your country, don't you?” The prince rubbed over the red skin Will's grip had left behind, gaze dropping to his feet. “So no doubt you will -”

Will tightened the knot on his make-shift bandage, giving up on the rest of the bruises. Those would heal. “I serve nobody but myself. Don't assume you're the navel of the world, _Your Majesty._ ”

Still rubbing at his wrist, the prince raised his chin. His brows – fair like dust, a little creepy – furrowed. “Then why did you save me!”

What an entitled child. “Why would anyone safe another?!” Will spat, already fed up with this entire situation. “I already told you. Not for a country or a reward or anything. Not even for you. Just for my own conscience.”

“Huh.” The prince drew in on himself, and Will almost felt the urge to tear his hand away from his wrist. This way, he'd only agitate it more, couldn't he see that? “You're strange,” the prince mumbled, brushing a light brown lock from his face.

It tore the last thread of Will's patience effortlessly. “ _I'm_ strange?!” His voice exploded with enough force to cause the prince to flinch and scramble backwards, to the edge of the blessed shadow of the well.

 _Don't pick a fight, don't do it, you're better than this._ Will held his breath and tried to count to keep his temper in check.

He broke after three. “You're the one arrogant enough to think that _I_ should be _grateful_ to be bruised up in a fight for your sake! You didn't even thank me! You probably think I should thank _you_ for this _huge honour._ Do you consider myself so below you that I'm not worth your empathy or are you simply a stone-hearted prick incapable of it in the first place?!” And someone like that would rule this country someday! Not that it mattered _which_ power hungry bastard would trample over an entire nation to uphold their own luxurious life next.

Rulers were all the same at the end of the day.

The eyes of the prince were wide with shock, which at least brought Will a little satisfaction.

“I -” the pampered little royal began, clearly at a loss what to follow that sentence up with.

“Sorry,” Will supplied. “You're sorry, is that it? Or how about a thank you?” The fire already left his veins, and Will sighed, digging in his pocket for a strip of sandy dried meat to chew on.

God damn hunger.

“Thank you I'm sorry,” the prince blurted, and when Will pushed himself to his feet to dig in his pocket more effectively, the boy flung both arms above his head like he was trying to protect himself from danger, hissing his words so fast they sounded like one. “Pleasedon'thurtme.”

That sentence cleared Will's mind like a gust of wind, and he blinked down at the curled up bundle beneath him, the very image of trembling misery. At last, Will _saw_ the prince before him – the soft soles of his feet, littered with cuts and burns. The angry bruise on his cheek with a cut from a ring to match, patches of his skin burned by the sun where he hadn't been covered by the bandits. Even the echo of Will's grip on his wrist.

The voice, the eyes, the posture of the prince spoke nothing but terror.

Food forgotten, Will sunk to his knees, raising his hands slowly with his palms open. “I'm not going to hurt you.” As he said it, Will felt guilt curl inside him at the way he had lost it. Who _was_ he? Some kind of criminal?

Well, _technically,_ yeah. And still Will had always clung to his own morals and humanity, a stubborn belief that kindness did not exist in this world unless extended by him. He prided himself in his empathy, and yet his anger had blinded him too much to realise the prince had been trying to give Will an incentive not to _kill_ the poor fool.

“Please forgive me for my short fuse.” Will put his hands together in something like a plea – a gesture he did not feel with all his heart, but hoped would take a little of the fear from the prince. “And for the way I dragged you away and hurt your wrist. It was necessary to get away and survive. But I will never harm you again.”

The Prince sat up straighter, posture and chin held rigid with perfection where his voice rang waveringly thin. “Apology accepted.”

At least he had some guts, and Will had to begrudgingly admit that pampered did not equal naïve – the prince's eyes were still guarded, on edge.

That'd make survival a lot easier.

With a little sigh, Will began digging in his inner pocket – right above his heart, where he stored his most important belongings. It couldn't be helped, even if he had hoped to keep the last of his tincture for a true emergency.

“What are you doing?” the prince asked warily.

Will's fingers closed around the small tin can, and he showed its rough surface to the rigid prince. “Just fetching something to ease your pain.”

The tincture was wasted on simple cuts and bruises, but for someone who had known neither fear for his life or much pain, it was certainly worth the eased sting.

Will bit down on his lip. Had it truly been just hunger making him so angry? Or had he loathed this prince for nothing other than the fact that he had suffered less than Will? How vile.

Who was he to hate someone for knowing less pain?

“If you trust me enough with this, I'll take care of your wounds.”

The prince wrinkled his nose, even when Will could see temptation in his eyes. “You have way more bruises than me.”

Will made a throwaway gesture. “I'm used to them. But you're not, are you? Let me help.”

The prince bit his lip, but raising his chin and no doubt gathering his last fractions of bravery, the prince nodded with the air of granting an audience.

If this was supposed to work, he'd have to get used to be treated like a person rather than royalty. But for now, Will took it in stride.

Very carefully, every bruise aching, Will knelt before the prince. “Look,” he began, never one to be particularly good with words he had to _think_ about, but trudging on. “I didn't save you because you're royalty or for some twisted honour. I did it 'cause I wanna fall asleep at night knowing I did the right thing.”

At that, the prince scoffed. “You recognised me by my eyes. You knew the second you saw me. I'm not stupid enough to believe in your good will. Everyone is after rewards. Don't pretend you'd help me if my parents couldn't pay you.” Something tight and coiled simmered in his words, but was neither Will's place nor interest to pry.

“Then feel at ease thanks to that,” Will replied simply, unscrewing the small can in his hand. He dipped his thumb into the tincture, shuddering a little at its scent. It reminded him of make-shift stitches, sleepless nights and pain. “Where are you hurting the worst?”

A shadow flickered over the prince's face. He sounded unbearably tired when he replied: “Everywhere.”

Will nodded, settling to take the sting away from the cut on the prince's cheek. Slowly, he raised his hand – causing the the boy's eyes to widen in terror at the unspoken question to touch his face.

An exercise of trust, truly.

When the prince did not protest, Will carefully ran his thumb with the soothing tincture across the cut, the unexpected intimacy of the gesture causing him to lower his voice involuntarily. “My point earlier was,” he began, feeling like his breath was caught in his throat. The eyes of the prince were close, and fixated on him. It put Will on edge. “Don't expect me to treat you like royalty out here.”

“I _am_ royalty,” the prince muttered in defiance, voice a little airy.

A small grin tugged at Will's lips. At least the guy had some spirit, huh? “You're neither above or beyond me out here, Prince. We bleed the same. We heal the same. Our hearts beat the same. Do you understand?”

He lifted his thumb from the prince's cheek, tips of his fingers still resting at the edge of his jaw, a featherlight touch.

The prince exhaled and reached up - Will was certain his own hand would be slapped away, but found an embarrassing little gasp escaping him when instead, the prince pressed his palm against his chest, clumsy fingertips right above Will's heartbeat.

A sense of wonder washed over the prince's features, like he had never been close enough to a person before to feel the thunder of their heartbeat beneath his hand. Truth to be told, it had been a while since Will had been this close to anyone, either.

What lives they led.

“My name is Will,” he muttered, dropping his hand from the face of the prince, who followed suit reluctantly, his touch lingering a second too long to be polite.

“Konstantinos,” he replied curtly, and for a second, Will only blinked at him before laughter burst from his lips. He slapped his hands over his mouth, but the noise kept spilling, causing him to double over.

“Oh, come on,” _Konstantinos_ muttered. “I don't particularly like it either, but that's just rude.”

“Sorry,” Will wheezed, not missing the red tips of the prince's ears. Heh. “I'm way too lazy for so many letters mashed together. How about Kon? Or …” He looked at the tin can in his hand, grinning wider. “Tin! That's in your name.”

“That's not how you pronounce it,” Tin protested, hands waving as he spoke, fluttering like excited little hummingbirds.

“That's how _I_ pronounce it.” The way Tin's nose scrunched up made Will throw his head back with laughter. But without further protest, the prince seemed to accept his fate. Maybe he had realised protest was futile.

Will slipped the tincture back into his pocket with a feeling of satisfaction. “So, Tin,” he said cheerfully, causing the prince to bury his face in his hands and groan. “Let's get you back to the palace, alright?”

Sobering now, Tin nodded with a storm in his eyes. “You'll help me?”

“Yes.” A simple word, with so much weight. Even though Will had long made certain not to own anything worthy of losing beyond the things he could carry on his body, leaving his home behind seemed terrifying and novel. Exciting all the same.

Tin surprised him by bowing his head. “You have my utmost thanks,” he said, oddly humble despite his formal words.

“Thank me once you're back in one piece.” Will got to his feet, patting the sand off his tunic even though he'd probably still find sand in his clothes a year after leaving the desert behind. Again – more habit than help. “Come on, Tin. You must be hungry.”

“Starving,” the prince croaked, struggling to his feet with remarkable determination.

Will almost offered to support him, but kept quiet at the set of Tin's jaw and instead told him: “I don't know about you, but I get _really_ grumpy when I'm hungry.”

Tin huffed as he limped along. “I noticed.”

It made Will bark another laugh. Honestly, when had he last laughed this freely and easily? Even with bandits lurking and the long way ahead of them, this may not be too bad. The air tasted like adventure and promise.

And maybe Will felt a little drunk on it. At least he couldn't explained his words otherwise. “When I saw you, I honestly didn't realise you were the prince, even though everyone knows your eyes make you unmistakable.”

Tin shot him a sharp glance, and Will didn't even know how he gathered enough courage to finish that thought.

“I just thought your eyes were beautiful.”

With an odd noise, Tin tripped over his own feet and Will took his chance to walk ahead briskly and leave the prince to catch up with him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear Will was less smooth in the first draft.


	2. Bread and Meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tin falls in love and discovers the beauty of spices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! I really hadn't planned to make this more than a oneshot but your response was so positive and overwhelmingly kind ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ )‧º·˚  
> Thank you so much for loving these idiot desert boys, thanks to you they'll get their whole story told and I really can't wait!
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to [Andramion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Andramion/pseuds/Andramion) who held my hand through a gruesome night of rewriting and is a beautiful person through and through ♥

They'd taken him in his pajamas – and that hadn't been the most humiliating part about his capture by a long shot. After a week of the gross, sweaty, dirty satin sticking to his skin and reminding Tin of it, he brushed it off his skin and stepped away from the pile of reeking clothes with a sigh of relief, feeling so much lighter. For a moment, he stood as he was, only kept breathing.

Will seemed way too earnest to sneak a peek at someone changing in his home, so it wasn't like there was much damage done in taking a moment longer.

Well, as far as someone could call … _this_ a home. As Tin pulled the new set of clothes on – surprising both in how light it was, and how _rough_ the fabric felt on his skin – he couldn't help his eyes wandering along the walls of the … cave. Frankly, Tin could not find a better word for this, even though an outrageous amount of teachers had made certain he knew an even more outrageous range of vocabulary in his own language and three more.

Not that any of it mattered, where he stood fixing a belt buckle on a pair of pants too wide and long for him, in some cave out in the desert. Where Tin could still feel the echo of Will's thundering heartbeat beneath his fingertips, and curiosity tugged at him with ferocious insistence.

Tin threw a cautious glance over his shoulder – still no sign of Will.

Well, Tin would just take an _unfortunately long_ time changing, then.

This time, at least, he didn't have to hide his reaction. Will hadn't reacted too well to Tin's barely concealed gaping at the mere fact that someone in this kingdom might call a _cave_ their home. No matter how _rough_ Will looked, from his worn clothes to the tiny scars littering his skin – Tin would not have expected any of _this._

And yet, this place had more character than his Aunt's room after one of her outbursts, with its clinical order disrupted by shards glinting in pools of varying, expensive liquid. It was space _lived in,_ a ratty blanket in disarray on a cot tucked away in a nook at the back, a clatter of tools and small knick knacks strewn across a haphazardly built shelf. Tech so bulky it must have been decades old, scratched up and no doubt creaking with sand. Tin ran his fingers across the keys jutting out of the side of what looked like a navigator, even though it barely resembled the sleek, efficient tech Tin was used to.

It had actual _keys._ Tin tapped the edge of a small antenna jutting out from it. Was it extendible … ? Did this brick of a tech piece even still work? Somehow, that wouldn't surprise him.

In the wall above, lines were carved into the stone. Pairs of five, like Will was counting something, though Tin had no idea what. Amount of people saved? Whew, that would've been an impressive count.

Tin's gaze kept wandering, to what looked like the messiest, most random pile of old tech in one corner, carelessly thrown about into what seemed to be a very fragile balance. Huh. Who needed that much old tech? Now _this_ pile didn't seem like any of it was working anymore. And – right behind it, something even more interesting caught Tin's eyes.

He stepped closer to the dirty linen sheet draped over something huge and bulky, curling his fingers in its fabric to yank it away -

“Enjoying yourself?” Will asked from the entrance. Instead of smoothly playing over it, Tin flinched like the guilty party he was, quickly jerking back around to face Will, hands hidden behind his back.

“I -” Tin began, with no way to follow it up, so he improvised instead, jabbing a finger at Will. “I didn't tell you I was done changing!”

“That's because you were busy snooping around.”

Tin couldn't really argue with that, but did so anyways. “So were you!”

Instead of grazing him with a reply, Will only shot Tin the most deadpan expression, and after a heartbeat of trying to meet his gaze and thinking a little too much about Will's dark eyes, Tin gave up and stared at his feet instead. It was probably a bad idea to annoy the person who was supposed to take you back home.

“I just meant to check on you since I was worried,” Will said, much gentler now. “Which is when I saw you poking around my things fully dressed. Besides, we're both guys, so I figured there wasn't anything interesting to see anyways.”

Tin would beg to differ on that one, but decided to keep his mouth shut. Instead, his gaze dipped back to the edge of the sheet he could see, curiosity still burning under his fingernails. The not quite subtle hint caught Will's attention, and Tin didn't miss how his broad shoulders settled into a more relaxed, definitely prideful stance. “You wanna see what's under that?”

“No, I've just been staring cause I wondered 'Damn, how does he get this sheet so dirty? I must know his secret'.” Tin shot Will a cautios glance, who raised and tipped a pointer finger at him with laughing eyes.

“Nice snark, but reel it back in. You try keeping a white sheet white in the desert. Alright, then -”

Tin made room for Will to bury his hands in the sheet with vigour, making sure to lift the cloth with the greatest effect possible. At the reveal what had been lying underneath, Tin's mouth simply fell open. He couldn't even make a sound, just stared for several heartbeats, not even minding Will staring at his reaction with glee.

“No. Way,” Tin finally managed to get out.

Will grinned at him, cocky and proud. “What a babe, huh?”

Tin stumbled a step closer, hands outstretched but too awed to dare and touch the wide, shimmering curves of the Desert Racer before him. It was so clearly outdated, but for a bike, that was the _appeal._ And despite a couple of nicks and bruises here and there, its surface looked smooth and polished, as if Will took care of it daily.

He better did. _Damn._

This particular beauty had been modified, too – the best of both worlds, look and flair of its own time, but solar-powered. A ticket to endless, glorious freedom in the desert.

A prickling started beneath his skin where his fingertips hovered over the bike, slowly filling him. A buzzing, wanting, electric _thrill._ Tin swallowed.

 _Freedom._ This was the closest he had ever gotten to that feeling.

Overwhelmed, he simply sank to the floor in front of the Racer, just staring.

Will barked a warm laugh. “Oh, I see you got it bad.”

“You're the luckiest person alive,” Tin gasped without taking his eyes off the beauty before him. He'd live in a cave, too, if that meant he would get a modified first generation Desert Racer. It still had _pedals_ to slam. Handlebars to grip onto and actually steer it, manual brakes. No built-in speed limitation, automatic brakes, touch screen control and mandatory safety quips delivered by a pleasant voice, basically impossible to deactivate.

This absolute _beauty_ and the endlessness of the desert which had terrified Tin just the day before – suddenly, it granted him a level of control Tin had never known before. When to slow down, when to speed up, where to go and when.

Nothing between him and a taste of glorious freedom.

“Please let me ride,” Tin blurted, unable to help it. He needed to get on this Racer like he needed air to breathe. “Can I go right now?”

If he got to take this beauty out for a spin even once he'd even hand himself over to the bandits again. He could happily die on the spot. He didn't care, he just _had to -_

“No can do,” Will sighed, shattering Tin's heart in a million pieces. “She doesn't work. That's the only reason a punk like me managed to get his hands on something like _her.”_

Well, if _that_ was the problem, Tin would gladly rearrange hell if that helped get this beauty purring. “Let me fix her. Imagine how much simpler it will be if we can just _zoom around on a Desert Racer!_ All the walking we'll be spared.”

Will's face did this _thing –_ Tin had barely known this guy for two hours, but already he recognised what it meant not to be taken seriously by him: left brow furrowed down, the opposite corner of his mouth tipped up, one dimple visible. It was a little adorable, but that was ruined by the sheer condescension of the expression. “Prince,” Will said, crossing his arms. “I tried everything. She doesn't run, sorry to burst your bubble.”

Maybe it was the foreign weight of his new clothes, the fact that Tin had been dragged around and treated like cargo for the better part of a week, or the thrill which had captured his heart and mind from the second the sheet had been lifted on the Racer. But Tin stood, chin high, shoulders back, a powerful stance, even though he had to tilt his head slightly to look up at Will. “One.” He lifted a finger dramatically. “Don't talk to me as if being raised sheltered equals me being a five year old.” Will's face twisted in response – he was _so_ expressive, his brows were hypnotically distracting – but Tin wasn't ready to let him get a word in yet. “Two, I may not know how to survive in a desert or live in a cave, but I got other skills and I know damn well how to fix that Racer.”

For the first time ever, Will looked utterly taken aback, and it made Tin feel victorious.

Then he just blurted, with all the offense he could muster: “It's not a _cave._ ”

His ugly 'snrk' kinda snort escaped Tin, despite all efforts to get rid of it by royal command. “It kinda is.”

Will didn't care at all about noises slipping from him. All he did was look down at Tin - it was so _clear_ how satisfied he was about their height difference that Tin wanted to kick his shin – and blow out air at last. “Alright, sorry for being an ass. Then, you're invited to surprise me. But please don't expect me to help because I really have to cook now before I _die_.” Will clutched his stomach, whole face twisting.

So. Damn. Expressive.

Tin's aunt would throw a fit trying to get Will to follow proper etiquette and be presentable. What an amusing mental image.

"That won't be a problem! You cook and I'll have this beauty purring in no time." With a proud grin he turned, finally seizing up the Racer again – such a beauty, just waiting for Tin to get his hands on her. The one time he'd enthusiastically get cozy with a lady.

“Oh, right -” Tin looked over his shoulder at Will. “Where are your tools? Found any spare parts with her?”

Will, back already turned to him, made a throwaway gesture towards the pile of junk next to Tin. “What's mine is yours now, or something.”

“Seriously?”

No answer. So, seriously. Tin exhaled deeply, rolled up his sleeves, and went to work.

 

\---

 

“Still having fun?” Will asked, back to talking around a mouthful of food.

It was a bit of a miracle Tin even registered his voice, his mind so wrapped up in the future purring of a beautiful engine he was elbow deep in the brunt of taking apart, covered in grease and barely registering the cold which had creeped up on them.

This. _This_ was the kind of thing that had kept his heart beating for so long. And for the first time _ever,_ nobody had called him away, told him to scrub his hands clean until they burned and were so disgustingly _untainted_ again.

At some point, Will had draped a blanket over his shoulder and had gently kept reminding him to drink, but beyond that, Tin had been free to stay completely focused on rifling through tech and machine junk and trying to wrap his mind around a way to get the new lady of his heart back to the living.

This was miles from the textbooks Tin had studied, or the few times he had gotten his hands on a bike, every necessary part at the ready and every necessary tool one reach of his hand away.

Frankly, it was _exhilarating._

The impossible was so much fun to challenge and conquer, step by tedious step.

“This is _great_ ,” Tin breathed, a wild grin tugging at his lips. “With what little I got to work with this should be _impossible,_ but I've started making progress and if I keep this up – I think, no I _know_ I'll manage to get her running! It's so much more fun like this! I get to use my mind and solve this puzzle instead of following instructions!”

“Sounds like fun,” Will mumbled, unconvinced, and dropped down next to Tin. For how loud and demanding his presence was, Will was surprisingly unobtrusive company. Even though he was still chewing. “So that's what you slaughtered my tech pile for. Uh, nice mess? Loving how none of this makes any sense to me anymore.”

“That's because _this_ is actually gonna work,” Tin told him gleefully. Will huffed and stayed silent, but when Tin peeked at him, he could see Will quietly grinning to himself. What a nice feeling, to pull such a reaction from another human being, with such little effort.

It made Tin smile as well, as he dragged his gaze back to the machine, only the slightest bit distracted.

“Alright, so I'm taking everything back, oh mighty Tin, lion tamer of the junkyard, but _please_ would you eat something before I inhale all of it? You _must_ be hungry.”

“Just a bit longer.”

Will gave him a long look again. “You said that when it was still light out.”

“It's dark out now?” Part of Tin thought Will must have been kidding, but another part of him maybe started realising his numb fingers, aching stomach and fatigue now. Damn his mortal limitations.

“I lit some lamps for you, thanks for noticing.” Will reached out, adjusting the blanket on Tin's shoulder, then slid a plate with bread and meat closer to him. At the lack of reaction, he began nudging it against Tin's thigh with an overly dramatic expression of suffering. “I can't believe I'm forced to _beg_ someone to take the food that I might as well be eating.”

Tin snorted again (it would be so hard to reel that back in later) and, relishing in the thrill of it, just reached for the food with his greasy fingers, shoving a chunk of bread in his mouth. His nose crinkled at the slight taste of grease, but as that disappeared – the bread was an _epiphany._ From its crunchy crust to the chewy softness within, the slight lingering taste of salt and flour on Tin's tongue. With an unholy noise, Tin's eyes fell shut, and he had to take a moment to put his hands on his knees and just _feel the moment_ of a life that allowed him to taste things like these.

“Woah,” Will muttered, when Tin gathered himself enough to reach out and eat more of it, savouring each bite. Incredible. This was the best meal of his _life._

The meat, too – it _burned_ on his tongue, a cacophony of tastes exploding, warming him from the inside out. What had Tin been _missing_ all his life?

“I think you're crying,” Will supplied, a little worried.

Tin fanned himself, breathing through his mouth. “The meat is so spicy,” he forced out. “But so _good._ ”

“Oh my god, take it easy.” Will got to his feet, leaving Tin to shovel more meat in his mouth and keep crying partly because it was so spicy and mostly because it tasted like paradise come alive in one glorious marinade. “Did _you_ make this?” he breathed over his suffering tongue and gums.

Will hurried over with more bread. “It'll take away some of the burn, you idiot, yeah I made this and I never intended to make you cry with it. Don't they use spices at your court or what?!”

“Those are tears of joy,” Tin croaked and shoved the whole bread chunk in his mouth, closing his eyes and savouring both the burn and the way it eased the slightest bit.

He couldn't believe he had been saved by a guy with a Desert Racer who happened to make the best food in this entire country and had an adorably expressive face to go with it.

Oh, Tin was so goddamn predictable. Honestly.

“I've never had anyone react this strongly to my food before. Uh, are you sure you're alright?”

Something in Will's tone made Tin freeze, called his attention away from how right and comfortable he felt and to what he must _look_ like. Covered in grease, fingers sticky with marinade, a whole chunk of bread in his mouth. What was he _doing?_

Tin could feel his face fall as he rushed to adjust his posture, reaching for the stained towel next to him desperately trying to wipe his hands off a little, thoughts racing -

“Hey, hey -” Will's voice was doing that _thing_ again, the extra warm one. It had to be some sort of … power, because it made Tin feel important, made him feel _seen._ Really seen. Will reached out gently, just tapping his fingers to Tin's palm under the greasy towel once, twice. Looked up at him with those dark eyes, lips pulling into a slow, deliberate smile.

Tin's heart skipped a very insistent beat, and he sank his teeth deeper into his bread chunk praying he looked like a hungry fool rather than an easily swayed fool.

“You're okay,” Will reassured him. “I didn't mean it in a bad way. Actually, I guess I can ... see you're a prince. But that's why I appreciate your snark and bad manners even more.”

Snark and bad manners. Not the things Tin was usually known for. Konstantinos wasn't usually known for, but Tin … Tin felt like a whole different person. Someone who fixed Racers and cried over meat and held the gaze of a desert thief who told him he was okay.

Tin dropped the towel, and exhaled, feeling the tension drain from his shoulders. Squinted at Will, but wasn't ready to commit to replying enough to get rid of the bread in his mouth. Instead, he kept on chewing while Will tipped back comfortably, bracing himself on his palms.

“Y'know, I thought you were kinda meek or something, but you've … you've got _presence_ since you saw that Racer. You're, like, glowing with it, but then you're also bawling over my standard bread like it was blessed by the gods. And from the second I saw you work, I couldn't help but believe you when you said we'd ride that Racer.” Will's smile sure was something. “I can't wait to take this babe out for a spin. I've been dreaming of that since the day I found her.”

Tin bit a chunk out of his bread and barely took time to chew it, feeling it go down his throat painfully for the sake of choking out: “You owe me the first ride.”

“It's _my_ racer,” Will shot back, with teasing arrogance. “My racer, my rules.”

“It wouldn't even be purring without me,” Tin snapped, narrowing his eyes.

Will had no trouble meeting his glare. “I guess you don't want more of my food then?”

Tin jabbed a screwdriver at his direction. “Do not think I will tolerate your blackmail.”

Will flicked his finger against it, the tilt of his lips victorious. “For my food you would, I bet. Hey, just because I'm the one riding this babe for the first time doesn't mean you can't accompany me. In fact, I insist.”

The mental image flashed in Tin's mind for only a second – arms wrapped around Will, pressed against him as they flew across the desert – it was enough to make him shove the rest of the bread in his mouth and harshly turn back to his project, determined to fill his mind with nothing but plain, safe, perfectly acceptable mechanics.

Will fixed the blanket which had slipped from Tin's shoulders, pat his back twice, and left Tin to fend with his idiot mind alone. The traitor. Did he even know how much he put Tin in disarray? Probably not, and it was for the better.

“Don't keep working for too long, alright?” Will called. “Make sure you get some rest, too. Unless you're itching to go back home, we still got a little time left.”

Itching to go back home. Tin swallowed a humourless laugh that felt like it poisoned him from the inside out. He lowered his hands, suddenly realising the faster he got done here, the faster he would return to the castle.

He exhaled, feeling an odd calm wash over him – settle over every alive, rejoicing, joyful fibre of his body. A mask sliding back into its rightful place, no use in taking it off for too long, when Tin knew he would be forced to wear it for a lifetime.

Even though Will could make him forget about all this so effortlessly.

“Actually, I'll continue tomorrow.” His own voice sounded odd, detached, after all the boundless laughing and teasing. The familiar cold settled in his bones, made his heartbeat slow. Ah. No matter where he went, he would never be able to outrun this, would he?

Will's face did another of his _things,_ brows furrowing (in synch for once) and pouting in worry as he looked at Tin, scrutinising, but thankfully settled for not prying. Maybe he could sense the way Tin's fatigue crashed over his head, pulled him under with the dark thoughts. Will gestured at the cot. “You take my bed. I slept many a night on the ground and will probably complain less come morning.” His tone was gentle, a little teasing, but it didn't quite reach Tin anymore.

Right now, he just wanted to disappear, so without protest he climbed on the cot, drew his knees up to make himself small, and huddled away under the blanket.

His mouth was still burning, and his hands smelled like grease, and he could hear Will's breathing nearby, but all Tin could think was: _Don't get used to this._

_You can't get used to this._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about motorcycles, please cut me some slack and just appreciate that we're fixing one up to zoom into a beautiful sunset ...
> 
> Also, instead of focusing on the angsty bit, let's just appreciate the real summary of this chapter:  
> Tin: Alright, I got this gay thing under control.  
> Will: Hello!  
> Tin: gODDAMMIT.


End file.
